


Under the Brave Black Flag

by surexit



Series: The Pirate Queen's Prize [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Pirates, Romance Novel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:21:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surexit/pseuds/surexit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is captured by pirates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Brave Black Flag

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to bbakerb for alpha reading and verbosewordsmith for beta reading, you're both wonderful. ♥

The last thing Steve can remember before this moment, blinking gummy eyes open in the dark, is the shout of “Pirates!” echoing through the ship and a blow to his head. Nothing after that. He lies still, and tries to catalogue where he is.

His head hurts. His head hurts, and he’s lying on floorboards between two pieces of wood. Further slow and painful thought produces the knowledge that he’s probably lodged between a wall and something else. A bed, he decides eventually. His cabin had had a bed, which had been disappointing to a formerly shorebound man dreaming of hammocks.

His cabin has a bed. Perhaps he’s in his cabin.

He levers himself into a sitting position. He’s definitely still at sea – the instability of the world can’t be entirely due to the lump on his head – and after a while of breathing steadily he decides that he is indeed in his cabin. His logical next move, obviously, is to stand upright.

Before he can quite get that far, the door opens and the guttering light of a lantern trickles into the room. Whoever’s carrying it is speaking over his shoulder, voice cheerful and brash. “No, this one was checked, but the bed’s...” The noise trails off as the owner of the voice obviously noticed Steve, only his head and shoulders visible as he hunches miserably. He can’t even begin to decide what he should do, too dazzled by the light and confused by the pain in his head.

“Well, hello,” the voice drawls, and the light comes closer. “Obviously not properly checked. You’re a pretty one, buddy.”

A new voice laughs. “Think the captain’ll mind the oversight?” The voice sinks, murmuring something that Steve can’t catch in a tone of voice that makes him twitch. The lightbearer laughs in response and then says, “Come on then, up with you.”

It’s aimed at Steve, who blinks into the light and then makes an attempt at standing. He feels as weak as a kitten. The lantern comes closer, and Steve can finally make out some details of the man carrying it – dark and pleasantly wicked-looking. “Someone caught you a nasty knock,” the man remarks, leaning over the narrow bed to ghost his fingertips over the lump on Steve’s brow. “We’ll get that fixed up, but first you need to see the captain. Come on, man, on your feet.”

It’s a little sharper this time, and Steve manages to obey, pulling himself up with hands braced on the bed. He sways, and a strong hand grips his elbow and guides him around the bed and out into the centre of the room. “Dugan,” the dark man says, “let the captain know what’s going on. I’ll be along with this one in a minute or two.” The other man disappears with a murmur of assent.

“I’m Steven Rogers,” Steve says earnestly, and his voice comes out a hoarse rasp. He notices with a detached interest that somewhere in the scuffle he seems to have had, his shirt’s been ripped, right across the chest.

The dark man laughs. “I’m Bucky Barnes, nice to meet you.”

Steve’s pretty sure he shouldn’t feel slightly comforted by knowing the man’s name, as he’s being carefully shepherded out of the room and into the corridors of the ship. The route they’re taking is one Steve recognises as leading to Captain Harris’ cabin – presumably no longer with Captain Harris in residence. Steve’s gathering his wits now, enough to have realised that Barnes is both a pirate and adorned with a pair of alarming pistols which discourage Steve from making any escape attempts, not that he has anywhere to go.

What’s happened is starting to sink in. He’s being taken to see a pirate captain.

Barnes knocks on the door that used to lead into to Captain Harris' cabin. Steve shakes his head confusedly at it as a woman's voice says, "Yes?"

"'S me," Bucky says.

"Come in."

Bucky pushes the door open and shoves Steve gently ahead of him through the doorway. Steve stumbles to a halt on Captain Harris' Persian rug, blinking a little. The cabin is cool and dim, the curtains closed against the sun.

"What the hell's this, Bucky?" the woman's voice says, from a dim corner near Harris' map area. Steve can only make out the edges of her figure.

"Someone who should have been dumped on Felisanza."

"And why wasn't he?"

"He was cunningly unconscious," Barnes says, and smirks sideways at Steve, who rubs his eyes and tries not to sway too visibly on his feet.

"Ah," the woman says, stepping forward into the light, enough that Steve can start to make out her features.

The first things he notices are her eyebrows, graceful dark slashes above bright brown eyes. Her jaw is strong, and her lips are coloured, dark against her pale skin. Incongruously, ridiculously, here in the middle of greatest peril, his fingers start to itch for a drawing pad. She's wearing a huge, feathered hat, a grandly brocaded red coat in the Spanish style, and tight breeches. 

Steve has no idea what's going on.

"I thought you'd like to see him," Barnes says. There's something odd about how he emphasises the words that makes Steve frown, but he can't quite catch it.

"Yes," the woman says consideringly, and then briskly, "Clean that wound and then dump him somewhere until he can stand up without fainting. And then back here, Bucky, we've a course to plot."

"Aye aye, captain," Bucky says, and Steve thinks it's probably the shock of that that finally makes his legs buckle underneath him and his vision go spotty.

***

He wakes to the woman's face. The captain's face. She's peering at him from about four inches away. He can't help his start of surprise or his yelp.

She doesn't even flinch, just says, "Ah, hello."

"Where's the crew?" Steve says, looking around to ascertain that he’s in his own cabin again, lying on the bed with his head bandaged. His thoughts feel less foggy, and he's got a number of questions, since no one's currently threatening to kill him.

"Dumped on the last rock we passed," she says, straightening up and moving away from him, voice distracted. 

"Marooned?" Steve asks, struggling up onto his elbows. He notices he’s shirtless, and remembers that his shirt was ripped yesterday, or whenever he was last awake.

She glances back at him, the corners of her sharp red mouth tucked down disapprovingly. "A little dramatic, don't you think?" Her voice is crisp and upper-class, the kind of thing Steve is used to hearing from his father's family. "Felisanza has all the necessary conveniences, they should manage to get transport from there."

"Oh." Steve’s not sure if that’s what pirates normally do. He shakes his head to clear it.

"Bucky mentioned that you were Steven Rogers, who is rather intriguingly recorded in the ship's manifest."

"Oh?" Steve says again, mind working frantically. He knows how he's recorded.

"Nephew of the governor of Montalbano, according to the manifest," the woman says, idly, as though her thoughts are elsewhere. The eyes on him are sharp as knives.

"Oh."

"You are a charming conversationalist," the woman says. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Steven. I'm Peggy." She holds out her hand, and Steve peers up at her. Is he supposed to kiss it? It's cleaner than he'd expect from a pirate. She sighs noisily and grasps his hand, pumping it up and down a few times.

"Peggy," Steve repeats. "Uh. An honour."

Peggy laughs, and says, "You should probably call me sir. I'll see you later, Mr Rogers."

"Uh. Goodbye," Steve says, letting his arms go out from under him and landing back on the pillow with a dispirited thump. He hears the door open and close as Peggy leaves, and he stares up at the boards of the ceiling listlessly.

He still has almost no idea what's going on, and his head is thumping with pain.

He's not left to wallow in his confusion for very long, it's only a few minutes later that there's a jaunty knock on the door. The key turns in the lock before Steve can say anything, and the door is pushed open by the dark man of last night, a presumably stolen naval officer's tricorne perched at a ridiculously cock-eyed angle on his head and a broad, dimpled smile stretching across his face. "You're awake, then?" he says. "Feeling good?"

"Not really," Steve says. "I'm on a pirate ship."

"Oh, come on," the man - Barnes, Steve remembers now - says, dimples pressing deeper into his cheeks. "We're fun pirates."

"I've been _kidnapped_ ," Steve says mulishly, pushing himself up against the pillows. "And hit over the head. It's not fun."

"Alright, fine, it hasn't been _completely_ fun for you," Barnes says, and he's still grinning. "And there is a kidnapping in progress, yes. But only until your uncle pays some ransom, and that surely won't take long?"

"I don't know," Steve says. He looks down at his blanket-covered knees and picks at a loose thread. "I've never met him."

"Well, he'll probably still ransom you, nice boy like you," Bucky says cheerfully. "And meanwhile, you get to sail the ocean blue. We're giving you the official title of Cabin Boy, just so you know, but we probably won't make you do any actual work."

"Right," Steve says. “This is not quite how I expected pirates to behave.”

"You shouldn't listen to all the stories they tell you, we're really very civilised."

"Fine," Steve mutters. He's starting to feel a little sulky about being so thoroughly off balance. 

Between the space of one breath and the next, Barnes is suddenly a lot closer, leaning over the bed with his brown eyes on Steve's. "And I bet the captain _really_ likes you," he says. "You're just the type of cabin boy she likes."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Steve says, uncomfortably aware, now that he doesn't have a _head wound_ , that there's probably more than one reason that he hasn't been marooned or made to walk the plank or whatever pirates do.

"Oh yes you do," Barnes says, smirking. "Big strong man like you?" One finger pokes gently at Steve's bicep. Steve moves away and frowns in irritation.

“You’re being improper.”

“I’m a _pirate_.” 

That makes Steve’s lips twitch a little, because, yes, alright. “And what’s your role on this ship, when you’re not harassing prisoners?”

Barnes grins. “Whatever’s necessary. What do you do when you’re not being harassed?”

“Artist,” Steve says, shrugging. 

“And you’re on your way to Montalbano to draw?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “Could I get a shirt, please?”

“Excellent. Well, I’m sure we’ll have you there in no time. And a shirt I can do, buddy. Although it is a _shame_.” His eyes flick briefly over Steve’s chest, and he leers. Steve pulls the blanket up higher, refusing to feel like a blushing maiden clutching a preserver of purity to her bosom. He can feel his cheeks heating a little, anyway.

Barnes grins, winks, and ducks out of the door.

***

A shirt is brought to Steve a few minutes later, a white and ruffled affair that's a little too tight for Steve to effectively do up the laces at the collar. He leaves it gaping after a moment, sighing. The shirt-deliverer, _another_ dark and wicked-looking man, grins at him. "Hi," he says. "I'm Stark."

"Steve," Steve says, deciding that standing on formality with this group of bizarre people is ridiculous, and conscious that if he'd only not given his full name to Barnes, this whole mess would have had a neater end.

"Pleasure to meet you," Stark says, shaking Steve's hand. "My Christian name's Howard, if you feel the need, but Stark's more piratical."

"It does sound a little more threatening," Steve agrees mildly. "May I ask a question, Stark?"

"Of course," the man says.

"What am I to do with my time while waiting for my release?"

"Oh, about that, Bucky said to give you some paper and a couple of pencils."

“Oh.” Steve looks at the proffered items. It’s good quality paper, he can see even at a distance, and the pencils are shiny in their metal holders. “Thank you.”

***

Steve’s been drawing for two hours when the door to the cabin is unlocked again, and the captain sweeps in. Steve peers up at her from the corner he’s wedged himself into, paper spread around him, and her lips twitch slightly. “Having fun?” she asks, and Steve frowns at her and deliberately doesn’t make any effort to get to his feet. Her lips twitch again. “I just wanted to let you know that you’re welcome to leave the room, we’re giving you free run of the ship.”

“Right,” Steve says. “Of course. That makes sense.”

The captain laughs. “Can you swim?”

Steve looks down at his drawing, jaw tight, and doesn’t answer her.

“So your escape potential is low.”

Steve, after a second, nods stiffly. The captain leaves, and she doesn’t lock the door behind her.

***

Steve takes a nap for a few hours, because he’s still feeling not quite right, and when he wakes up he’s hungry. Really hungry. He realises that he hasn’t eaten for rather a long time, what with the head wound and all, and pushes himself to his feet, trying once again to tighten the gaping neck of his borrowed shirt.

Time to brave the pirates.

The minute he steps outside the door, he’s greeted by a cheery, “Hey,” and Barnes grins at him from his slouch against the wall outside the cabin. Stark, in an almost identical posture against the other wall, essays a little wave, which Steve almost returns before realising how ridiculous he would look.

"Are you guarding me?” Steve asks.

Stark grins. “As much as we’d all like to believe in the innate goodness of our fellow man, the captain thought there was a chance you might run for it. Or swim for it. Can you swim?”

Steve ignores the question. “And that would disprove my innate goodness? Running away from pirates?”

Barnes snorts. “He’s got a point, Stark. I think that’s a morally neutral action.”

“Think of us as tour guides,” Stark says. “In your adventure into Pirateland.”

“Fine,” Steve says, feeling the beginnings of a disquieting surrender to the insanity in the way his shoulders relax, just an inch. “I need some food.”

“That, we can do,” Barnes says.


End file.
